30. The Scars of Sin
|
{72}
MY smile is bright, my glance is free, |
| My voice is calm and clear; |
| Dear friend, I seem a type to thee |
| Of holy love and fear. |
But I am scann'd by eyes unseen, |
| And these no saint surround; |
| They mete what is by what has been, |
| And joy the lost is found. |
Erst my good Angel shrank to see |
| My thoughts and ways of ill; |
| And now he scarce dare gaze on me, |
| Scar-seam'd and crippled still. |
Iffley.
November 29, 1832. |